Susan Kushner Resnick2015-03-03T19:14:14-05:00Susan Kushner Resnickhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/author/index.php?author=susan-kushner-resnickCopyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc.HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Susan Kushner ResnickGood old fashioned elbow grease.Aron Lieb, Holocaust Survivor, a Stranger, Saved My LIfetag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.20658982012-11-04T08:14:21-05:002014-01-23T18:58:21-05:00Susan Kushner Resnickhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/susan-kushner-resnick/
When it happened to me, I talked back. The man had stopped me in the lobby of a Jewish community center as I put my baby in his car seat.

"Vhat's his name?" he asked in an accent full of history.

I sized him up: an old fellow wearing a cap and glasses. He appeared to be clean and unarmed, plus his eyes twinkled. Probably just a grandpa who missed his own cherubs, I thought.

I told him my baby's name, asked him about himself and learned that my grandfather assumption had been way off. He didn't have children or grandchildren. He only had one living relative because everyone else had been killed during the Holocaust.

Aron Lieb had spent the war in a ghetto, in forced labor camps and in several brand name camps: Auschwitz, Birkenau and Dachau. After American soldiers welcomed him back to the living with chocolate bars, he came to America. Here he worked as a deli counterman while enduring an unhappy marriage until his wife's death.

It was a sad life, yet he had those twinkly eyes. I wanted to know more.

I suggested we meet for coffee the following week. This wasn't something I'd ever done before, but it felt right. What harm could one coffee do?

No harm at all, it turned out. That morning changed my life.

At first we were just coffee mates. Then he started coming to my house for holidays, bringing my kids birthday candy and telling me all of his stories. You might think that he sprinkled his tales of tragedy with bits of wisdom, Tuesdays with Morrie style. But that wasn't his way. Instead, he told jokes, complained about the headache he'd had since before the war and flirted with every woman he saw.

Then his eyes stopped twinkling. That's when the life lessons commenced.

The Red Cross did many helpful things for survivors after the war, but I don't think they provided counseling. Now we know about PTSD, but it was around then, too, and Aron had buried his symptoms for years. As one ages, psychological defenses break down as much as collagen and muscle tone do. He became depressed and anxious, requiring psychiatric care. When I realized that he didn't have anyone to help him navigate the medical system, I signed health care proxy and power of attorney documents, essentially adopting him.

He recovered, but after a while, the misery returned. He spent all of his time alone in his apartment, eating not much more than rice and pills. When he threatened to kill himself, I knew he needed more than I could provide. But due to a complication in how this poverty-level Holocaust survivor had spent his German reparations, he couldn't get into a Jewish nursing home until I collected a pile of money for expenses.

Organized religion can be wonderful and terrible. Fighting Aron's battles showed me both. I'd expected the established Jewish community to provide anything necessary to help him die with dignity. When they wouldn't, I was heartbroken. Already ambivalent about the religion I'd been raised in, their refusal to do what was right almost caused me to quit altogether. But my faith was restored when the rabbi of the small congregation I infrequently attended asked congregants for help. Soon, people who knew neither of us donated whatever they could -- some sending checks for $5 and $10 -- to keep Aron safe.

Aron used to tell me that I'd saved his life, but he actually did most of the saving. He gave me the gift of being able to help somebody. He exposed me to the best and worst of humanity. And he showed, through the example of his entire life, that we humans can endure everything.

All because I talked to a stranger.

http://www.susankushnerresnick.com/]]>Gay Pride: Back When No One Was Gaytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.16410292012-07-01T09:46:40-04:002012-08-31T05:12:07-04:00Susan Kushner Resnickhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/susan-kushner-resnick/
They were tomboys.

They were artsy.

They were the best dancers under the disco ball.

But gay or lesbian? Not in Rhode Island in 1982.

Of course, I'm being facetious. There were as many gay people in the world back then as there are now, as there were 100 years ago, as there will be 100 years from now. But in my suburban world, they were invisible. So it was with great appreciation that I kissed my nineteen-year-old daughter goodbye as she headed off to one of the first events of her summer internship. She would be accompanying the governor of Massachusetts, and assisting the Obama for America campaign. She would be holding signs and chanting chants. And, oh yeah, she'd be part of the contingent at the front of Boston's Gay Pride parade. Ho hum.

I don't mean to suggest that Gay Pride parades are insignificant or unimportant. Hardly. What's significant and important is how mainstream such events have become, with their high-ranking politicians, opportunistic campaigners and straight girls with rainbow elastics in their hair. No longer are such parades seen as outlandish displays of sexuality, their participants bold statement-makers. They're just plain old liberal events. I find that delightful.

What thrilled me the most about my daughter's assignment, besides telling conservative relatives about her participation in the parade and watching them struggle not to wince, was the fact that it provided further evidence that I'm living through history. Consider the trajectory of my fellow boomers and me: when we were born, adult men and women who weren't married were "confirmed bachelors" and "old maids." Couples hid their relationships, forced to treat and introduce their beloved partners as roommates or buddies in public. Parents lucky enough to have their children come out to them often hid that information from family and friends. Shame was everywhere.

Now it's starting to dissipate. Though gay marriage is still illegal in most of the country, I'm witnessing that antiquated injustice change state by state -- literally. In Massachusetts, where I live, anyone can marry anyone else. In Rhode Island, where I work, the battle continues. But as my generation has aged, society has progressed so far that now it's normal (in many places) to see gay men and lesbian women marry their beloveds, to hold their partners' hands at family functions, and to come out scandal free. Their parents are proud and relieved: they know that gay marriage will lead to more grandchildren, something the confirmed bachelors usually didn't give their families.

As GLBT people have gained life-changing rights, the rest of us have gained the right to embarrass and annoy them with personal questions about their love lives that were once reserved for straight couples. I wonder how many lesbians are secretly pleased when their mothers ask: "Any wedding plans yet?"

I assume the evolution toward comprehensive gay rights will continue so that when I'm an old lady, a conversation like this could ensue:

"Do you have grandchildren?"

"Why yes! I have a straight boy, a straight girl and a gay boy."

Not only will shame be a thing of the past, but descriptions of sexual preference will be commonplace. How else are we Bubbies and Grandpas supposed to get the matchmaking right?

This must be what it felt like to be a woman born in 1900 or an African American born in 1942. You start life and the world is one way. You end it, and the world is another. Our great-grandmothers couldn't vote but our daughters must. A man of color couldn't sleep in certain hotels; now one sleeps in the White House. My high school's gay kids were phantoms. Today's are coming out before graduation and fighting hard for respect.

The universe is terrible and ugly in so many ways, but it's always changing. And once in a while those changes are so good and so big that future generations won't be able to imagine life before them. You mean homosexuality was illegal?, they'll ask. And you didn't have computers?

Living through these kinds of changes is like witnessing a storm. There is peace and denial. There is darkness and rain. There will be clarity and light.

Susan Kushner Resnick is the author of the forthcoming memoir, 'You Saved
Me, Too,' and the nonfiction narrative 'Goodbye Wifes and Daughters.' Follow her at @suekush or www.susankushnerresnick.com.]]>